


Worth Negotiating For

by Austalis



Category: True Detective
Genre: M/M, PWP, Prostate Stimulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-02-04 07:00:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1769938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Austalis/pseuds/Austalis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I wanna fuck you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worth Negotiating For

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this Kinkmeme prompt: http://truedetectivekm.livejournal.com/566.html?thread=83766#t83766

“I wanna fuck you.”

Marty’s words are short, sharp, slightly breathless. His eyes are on the road, studiously not looking at Rust. Rust barely blinks. Marty’s been building to something all morning, and while Rust’d expected something more like a comment on his paperwork (the fact that he didn’t do any) or his outlook (nihilistic as they come), well. This wasn’t all that unexpected. They’d been- well _fucking_ clearly wasn’t the word- but getting off together for a couple of months now. It’d only been a matter of time.

Rust sucked on his cigarette, watching Marty’s knuckles tighten on the steering wheel, making it seem as though he’s contemplating his answer. In truth, he knows what he’ll say.

“I won’t like it much. I never have,” his words dragging out slowly, rasping like sandpaper over stone. Rust’s done it before, in his days as Crash. Of course, there are plenty of drugs that’ll make a man want a quick fuck, as well as get him high. Still others to loosen him up enough to take a cock, even if it’s not really his thing. Not that he’s told Marty about that. He probably never will.

Marty glances across at him, Rust can see his apology forming, his entreaty to forget, and behind it a flicker of surprise that Rust already knows what it’s like. The unspoken assumption was that this had been a first time for them both.

“But I’ll do it. In exchange for not one word about my time in the records room for a month. Or my interpersonal relations.”

Rust sees Marty fighting with himself. The desire to be a good man, not to push Rust more than he’s comfortable with. The fear that if they talk about it, start negotiating it’ll become real somehow, in a way that it isn’t now. His sharp spike of lust at the thought of fucking him. In the end, it’s lust that wins out. Marty’s always been an ass man.

“Alright, a month.”

 

* * *

 

 

The time comes, and Marty’s prepared. He’s done some thinking too. He may never have been with a guy before, but he’s no stranger to his own prostate. He’s told the story about his college girlfriend’s roommate too many times for that. “Now, I can’t do without!” might be an exaggeration, but not by much. He figures every man’s gotta have a prostate, and they all gotta behave just about the same way. Even Rust.

 

Rust almost sneers when Marty tells him to take off his clothes and get on the mattress. He complies though, taking himself down onto knees and elbows. Damn, but his ass is fine. Lean, toned, like the rest of Rust’s impossibly thin, impossibly tense body. Tense. Huh.  


“No, lay all the way down,” Marty says quietly. Rust glances at him, wrongfooted for a moment, but he does it. Marty runs a hand down one side of his spine, feels the muscles shift. Rust’s coiled tighter’n a bowstring. With anyone else Marty’d swear it’s fear. He pours a little of the lube on his hands, warms it, then drags them in a wide fanning motion across Rust’s lower back like a masseur. His hands are so big they almost span Rust’s torso.  


“We doin’ this or not? Get on with it” Rust snaps at him in response to the shiver that runs up his treacherous spine.

“Hey, if you ain’t relaxed this ain’t gonna work. One month, so shut up and let me work,” says Marty back flippantly. Rust flops his head back down onto his crossed arms. It’s as close to an assent Marty’ll get, he knows.

Marty’s hands work for some time, maybe ten whole minutes, his hands listening to the signals Rust’s giving him. When it comes down to it, a body’s just a body, and Marty’s had sex with a helluva lot of female bodies. This one’s not that much different. He can feel himself getting hard, just touching Rust like this. He’s so different like this, so vulnerable. Marty couldn’t have imagined that. When he feels the time is right, he shifts himself, positions his knees either side of Rust’s thighs, plants a soft kiss on the base of his spine, trails his mouth downwards.  


“Jesus, fuck, Marty, what’re you-?” Marty digs his fingers into one ass cheek, shutting him up, and leans in. He works with his tongue, and yeah, Marty already knows he’s good at this, but those whimpers Rust’s making sure are gratifying. It’s not long before Rust’s lifted himself, pressing back against Marty, giving him a better angle. Marty reaches around, strokes him to a fuller hardness with one slick hand, palming himself with the other. Figuring maybe he’s loose enough, Marty moves on. Slowly, oh so slowly, he pushes his index finger into Rust, waiting while the tight ring of muscle relaxes itself. It does, but he feels the rest of Rust’s body tighten. He glances about him, takes in the well-defined muscles of his back, stark and tense against his ribs. He supresses a sigh, takes a different tack. He rolls Rust over onto his back, crawls up beside him and latches onto one nipple. Quick as a flash, Rust goes for Marty’s flagging erection, begins working it.  


“Easy there,” Marty says, “don’t want the show to be over too soon.” He lets Rust nip at his collar bone, though, and explore the planes of his stomach while he tries with his index finger again. It’s better this time, easier. In a few minutes he’s thrusting gently, muttering some nonsense, like some fucking horse gentler while Rust’s eyes flutter shut and he digs his fingers into Marty’s upper arm. Makes no move to stop him. Marty’s finger circles, crooks, searching for that elusive spot, gently stretching as he does so. The angle’s all wrong of course, and he’s used to himself, but he’ll get there. They’ve got all the time in the world.  


“Alright, you gotta stop me if I’m hurting you, and you gotta tell me if it feels good, okay?” Rust doesn’t dignify that with a reply, huffs out his frustration in a hot, irritable breath into Marty’s ear. Marty doesn’t ask himself when he started to be able to read Rust’s moods in his breathing.  


It takes another couple of minutes- Jesus, trust Rust to be this fucking _awkward_ \- but suddenly Marty finds it as Rust convulses in his arms, eyes going comically wide as he stares at him. Marty supresses a laugh, and begins to speed up.

“So how does that feel?” he asks, smugly, as Rust pants in his ear. Predictably there’s no response. “Alright, ready to try the whole thing now?” He feels Rust’s chin poke into his shoulder as he nods.

Marty rolls him back onto his stomach, ass in the air. He takes a second to stroke himself, though damn if he isn’t already straining at the sight, rolls a condom on and lubes them up some more. He slides himself forward, into the tight, hot space, stopping and starting, letting Rust’s heavy breathing set the pace.

“You might find it a little easier if you push back, just a bit.” He surprised when Rust does so, complying eagerly, until his ass is pressed back against Marty’s thighs. Marty shifts experimentally, trying to remember how his hands had moved and mimic that with his cock. Rust, mouth open to pant, honest to god moans when Marty finds it again, starts to move.

They strike up a rhythm, steady, not too hard or fast, though Marty can feel his self-restraint starting to slip. He reaches around, tugs out an identical rhythm on Rust’s cock. The air is heavy with the smell of sweat and sex, full of the rasp of skin-on-skin and the harsh sound of breathing. It doesn’t take so long before Marty’s coming with a shout and a curse, Rust viciously clenching around him as he does. As soon as his senses are back, he pulls out, shoves Rust down on the bed and cuddles up to his back. Reaching between Rust’s legs, he soon drives him over the edge too.

As they lie and get their breath back, Marty allows himself a smug grin.  


“Not so bad after all, huh?”  


“Fuck you, Marty. I still get my month.”  


That’s okay, thinks Marty. After all, he’s always been an ass man, and some things are worth negotiating for.

 


End file.
